


Sciamachy

by GrimLegate



Series: Requiems For Tomorrow [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, M/M, emotional breakdown, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20188063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimLegate/pseuds/GrimLegate
Summary: (n.) a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting against your own shadow.





	Sciamachy

**Author's Note:**

> You know it's bad when you make yourself cry over a line in a fic YOU'RE writing.

“Do you really think of yourself in such a way?”

It is not the suddenness of the voice that cleaves through the stillness of the air, yet rather the matter-of-fact tone that it takes, when suddenly he is forced to look into the eyes of the other currently perched on his lap. It had been some attempt to keep him from the mountain of paperwork that he had been slaving over for the last few days, a task, no doubt, that Lucia had set the other up to.

Though, he had suspected the other had no qualms about so abruptly cutting off his work flow.

The miqo’te had been a welcome intervention, if Aymeric was to be an honest man. He could not count the times that he had found himself wondering after the other, wishing he would drop in for a moment, to let the other know he was safe. A gentle brush of snow against his shoulders, he sunk into his lover’s awaiting arms, with the Lord Commander hardly knowing what trap awaited him, when the other refused to let go.

And now, crouched over his form, where the two had been quietly dozing and basking in each other’s presence, the sudden question startled Aymeric, who craned his neck to meet those lilac eyes that sheared through duplicity. His thumbs gently settled in the man’s hips, grazing over the skin there and distracting the Warrior for but a moment.

“Forgive me, but I’m not sure what you might mean?”

“When we had first met, you had made a comment on your… _stock._” Aymeric’s eyes softened at the other, raising a hand to gently brush through the locks of the other. He leaned into the comfort, but the keen eye that he kept on the other made it clear that there was no running from his question. If he had not caught the look, the subtly squeeze of the other’s muscled thighs atop his own was certainly telling enough. Aymeric’s eyes closed, leaning his head back until it gently met with the backing of his chair. It was hard enough to provide an answer which would not spark the other into an outrage, not at him, but at the way others may have treated him before he became the man he was.

He remembers the same such meeting, how he had barely restrained himself from asking the other to divulge some of his stories. After all, there was business to take care of, and he knew that there would be plenty of time for such things, should he have his way. He did not think that he would be a part of those stories.

He did not think he would hold the affection of someone that he had secretly lionized – and lamented over in kind.

“It is not as though I lied, in the eyes of Ishgard, I was a bastard. Simply being the Lord Commander does not change such a thing. I have no doubt another would have found the station easier with a proper name – a thing I did not have.” His voice is quiet, leaving out the distinct parts of his past that he knew would raise the other’s ire. Even now the man’s tail had begun to lash, a tell that the Commander had begun to pick up over the time spent with the other. “I am a bastard, plain and simple. When I made such a comment, it did not mean that I felt as though I was _bad_ because I was such.”

“Then what about those comments? When you think I am abed and you whisper into me how you do not deserve me, that you’re blessed to have me, that you’re not worthy.” Those eyes were now narrowed in accusation, and Aymeric could not help the flush that came to his face. He was embarrassed, _ashamed_ that the other had heard him in those moments of weakness. He could not even think of what to say.

Those thoughts, the demons that ran rampant in him, had reared their ugly heads in the aftermath of the vault, where his life had been traded for another’s. He knew how much Haurchefant had loved the Warrior, and Aymeric had known it would have been only a matter of time for the other to spill his guts.

But it seemed Zephirin had seemed inclined to beat him to it. He had pulled Rhitaas away from the body, Rhitaas, who, was bent on making himself sick, tears and blood spilling on the star globe in his hands, while he fought to bring life back to a dead man. He had lamented over his grave, and how the other had came to him originally for his blessing to court the miqo’te. A courtship that had ended as swiftly as it had begun.

It had taken time, time spent with Lord Edmont, who counselled the other in his agony. How his son had always wanted for Rhitaas to smile, even in his last moments. _I have no doubts that he would be happy for you both, if you were to keep him smiling – that was his wish, after all._ Aymeric could not argue against it, and when the two of them had begun to drift closer and closer, he found no protest from those closest to them.

Rhitaas’ hands settled on Aymeric’s shoulders, and his eyes, those eyes that shone as clear as the sky at twilit, when day and light had begun to sink together, grasping fleetingly in those moments before one relinquished the world to the other. They held emotions that Aymeric had yet to wrest from the other’s iron grip over them, but right now, he allowed his sorrow, and his love, and the novelty of every moment that they spent together bleed into the here and now.

One of those gloved hands reached up to gently wipe a stray tear that had fallen, and Aymeric felt himself flush at the fact that he had begun to cry. Rhitaas’ hands smoothed over his cheeks, and with his heart crawling up his throat, he asked,

“Why must you hurt yourself – over being loved?” The Lord Commander could do nothing to comfort the other but cup his hand, nuzzling into the calloused palms. He pressed a kiss to each of the fingers, trying to distract himself from the pitiful feeling that had begun to cinch his throat closed. He shifted up in his seat, forcing Rhitaas back ever so slightly, so the two could look properly into each other’s eyes.

“I hurt because I fear I pale in your radiance. You are the sun who lights my way, and I am the stars that shine distantly in the night. You are everything good in this world, you are kind,” And Aymeric presses a kiss to Rhitaas’ skin, trying to soothe the distressed look upon his love’s face. “And devoted,” Another kiss. “And selfless,” Another. “And you carry a dignity about you, that even some of the Lords have yet to perfect.”

He jumps, when he feels the other’s forehead press against his, unable to run from the gaze that threatens to spill with emotions. His lip quivers for a moment, until a deep breath manages to chase the tears away for a moment. “Can the sun not envy the stars? Can it not trust to fall back into the curtain of night, to trust it will watch over it’s slumber?” Their lips brush together, and a solemn hiccup escapes from the other’s tight control.

“You speak of kindness, as though you were not one of those who fought to keep the other’s and I safe.” His grip on his shoulders tightens. “You speak of devotion, as though you did not fight to make it to where you are today.” His voice grows louder, though it threatens to break under the strain of the tears he fights. “You speak of selflessness, though you stood by our side, even when you stood to gain nothing from it.” The façade of calm that has been straining under the whirlwind inside of him shatters like glass, and Aymeric is forced to confront the ugly hurt that had been festering in the other’s heart.

“You speak of _dignity_, though I do not think the life of luxury would have made as great a man as _Aymeric de Borel!_” He forces the words out like they were venom in his mouth, finally collapsing against the other’s shoulder. He does not sob openly, for Aymeric doubts the other capable of such a thing, and if he was, it would have been a sight that would wrench his heart from his chest. The elezen holds the other, gripping into the backs of his robes, so that the other might ground himself in the other’s presence.

He presses kiss after kiss into the soft locks, skirting around his ears, trying desperately to soothe the other in apparently so desperate a time of need. “I am so sorry.” His hoarse whisper he can barely recognize, while he fights the desperate urge to join the other in his agony. “Please, do not shed another tear. Please? Smile for me?” When Rhitaas lifts his head, the other seizes the opportunity to lavish his face in affection, hoping to stem the tide of the tears.

“I love you, you fool… Of course, you are worthy – if you were not, I doubt there would be another who would be.” He whispers through the kisses, and Aymeric knows it would not be so simple as one comment, but he’s sure the Warrior knows that as well. But it was progress, it was the beginning of healing a wound in which both of them shared part of the burden, part of the pain.

Each clutched at the other, as though trying to shield the other from their own hurts, even when the waves of exhaustion washed over the two. They were loathed to part, and such was the scene Lucia had peered in to, to see the pair nestled deeply into the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out some of my other works if you enjoyed this one, and check me out at grimlegate.tumblr.com or twitter.com/GrimLegate!


End file.
